


if you leave, please take me with you

by shadowstuart (khuns)



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Mutual Pining, if anyone wants to hold a green / brown eyes tally you are more than welcome, in which logan is part-vila and julian is a sorcerer, then established relationship for once something i've previously found myself incapable of writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khuns/pseuds/shadowstuart
Summary: In the fading blur his eyes seek out Julian’s. They are fierce, unbearably so, as if carrying the fire of a thousand suns in his anger; yet they still carry the same spark Julian wears so often, an untamed shine Logan has come to recognise as love.If all of this goes wrong, Logan thinks, he just wants one last memory of Julian like this, lightning-fierce, love-strong.or: magic!au, except i know absolutely nothing about magic except what i've absorbed through merlin and supernatural and assorted other inane tv shows
Relationships: Julian Larson-Armstrong/John Logan Wright III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	if you leave, please take me with you

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from eric chou's [the chaos after you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdGdO6KjF1I)
> 
> ukw i started this for the first snow prompt in the december challenge and if i don't throw it up now it'll never see the light of day so here it is, one entire month late, no proofreading we die like mr harvey

Tucked away between the bagel shop and the bar across the road from Logan’s new office is an unassuming little space, framed with the green of potted plants and the glow of afternoon sun. 

It is nearly always empty whenever Logan walks past it; the only hint to what goes down in the store is the gilded _L’APOTHICAIRE_ painted on its large glass windows, a quiet promise that there might be more bubbling under its surface than meets the eye.

Logan has never visited the store, nor has he ever felt the need to - but after all, doesn’t magic like this come into your life only when you least expect it to?

-

“Logan.”

Logan hums an acknowledgement under his breath, barely looking up from his laptop. If he manages to squeeze in a meeting with this client tomorrow, he might be able to-

“Logan!”

He glances up just in time to see a ball of paper roll off of Kurt’s fingers and fling itself into his face. He scowls. “Just because you’re a sorcerer-“

Kurt waves him away and just speaks over him, eyes fading back from burning gold to their usual blue. “The twins called to cancel your morning meeting tomorrow. They also specifically asked me to make sure you go home on time, and it’s already-“ Kurt pauses to check his watch, “-six thirty. Go home, Logan.”

Logan frowns. “I still have-“

“You can do it tomorrow,” Kurt raises a formidable eyebrow. “They cancelled your morning meeting, you can do it then.”

When Logan still doesn’t move from his desk Kurt just sighs and pushes himself off of Logan’s doorframe. “Work can wait until tomorrow, alright? Go home - you may be part-vila but right now with those bags under your eyes you look like the fucking undead.”

Logan makes a small noise of protest as Kurt shuts his laptop with a soft flick of his fingers. “ _You’re_ not going home yet.”

Kurt snorts at the barely-veiled petulance in his tone. “Blaine’s picking me up for dinner but his ritual ran overtime. He should be arriving any time, though, so if _you’d_ like to get a move on so I can report back the twins...”

Logan sighs and gets up. Emails can wait until tomorrow, he supposes, especially when your secretary seems to be the most insistent person on the planet. He reaches for his bag and immediately winces - the sharp pain in his shoulder forces its knife between his muscles and twists.

“Your shoulder?” Kurt winces in sympathy when Logan nods, hand still rubbing the burning spot. “You know, there’s this really good potion my friend makes that’s great at easing pain, if you’re looking for a reliever. I didn’t bring my stash today, but his place is just across the road if you wanna pick some up on the way home.”

“If it’s Dwight’s home-made ’alcohol’ I don’t think-“

Kurt moves to swat him; Logan just laughs as he ducks out of the way, swinging his bag over his other shoulder.

“I was talking about the apothecary, you idiot. Go look for Julian and say I sent you.” Kurt spares a look at his buzzing phone. “Blaine’s here. Can you find your way there yourself or do I have to hand-hold you there?”

“I’m not a baby-“

“Debatable,” Kurt smirks, ushering him out of his office. “Now, get out of my sight.”

“I’m your _boss_ -“

“Also debatable,” Kurt tosses back, but the smile in his friend’s voice is so bright Logan cannot bring himself to care. “Remember, his name is Julian.”

“Julian,” Logan repeats. _Julian, Julian, Julian_.

The name rests lightly on the tip of his tongue all the way across the road, dissipating only with the tinkle of the bell as he pushes open the door to L’Apothicaire.

The first thing that hits him is the warm scent filling the shop - whatever potion is brewing smells a gentle kind of sweet, like an intoxicating combination of rice and lavender this close to sending Logan to sleep. The lights at the front of the store are turned off, but the entire front is flushed a heady gold with the sunset anyway, chrysanthemums and tulips brushing shadows onto the pale wooden floors.

“Hello?” Logan calls out. He lets the door swing closed behind him with another gentle twinkle and takes another step into the store. “I’m, uh, looking for-“

There is a slight movement out the corner of his eye, and Logan jumps, startled, only for a man to materialise from behind shoulder-high stalks of sunflowers. He carries with him the scent permeating the store, purple smudge high on his cheekbone a hint of the potion he might have been starting when Logan walked in; the stalks of lavender tucked into the front of his apron pocket confirms it.

Immediately Logan is hit with the realisation that he looks younger than Logan was expecting - there is something about the way the curve of his eyelashes brush the soft of his cheeks and the way the sun runs its fingers through the man’s messily tied hair that makes Logan pause. The man seems much closer to his age than the octogenarian he imagined. The evening sun throws the man’s features into sharp contrast, but there is no mistaking the flash of gold in his eyes - Logan has seen it often enough with Kurt that he knows it to be the mark of a sorcerer.

The sorcerer pulls a red lollipop out of his mouth. “Can I help you?”

Logan drags his eyes up from the man’s lips with some difficulty. The man’s brows are raised, questions dancing in the bright sunlight of his eyes, softly framed by bangs too short to be pulled into his ponytail.

“Um,” Logan says intelligently. “Um.”

A small smirk paints the corner of the man’s eyes. “Looking for someone?”

_Julian_ , a faint memory of Kurt’s voice supplies. “Julian,” his tongue fumbles. “I’m looking for Julian.”

The man grins in delight, sticking his free hand out. “Right here. What are you looking for?”

Logan clears his throat, and swallows a small bubble of embarrassment in favour of shaking the man’s - Julian’s - hand. It’s warmer than he expects. “Kurt said you had a great pain reliever.”

Julian makes a pleased sound. “That I do.”

He winds around Logan and makes his way to the counter, reaching up to grab a bottle off of a higher shelf. The bottom of his sweatshirt rides up, the dark blue of his apron strings brushing against the warm sliver of skin that shows; Logan barely has time to avert his eyes, flushing, just as Julian turns around. He hopes the shadow of evening is enough to hide the heat on his cheeks.

“I have a generic one here,” Julian sets the corked vial on the glass counter between them, “but if it’s something serious we can look at brewing something more personal to help with your pain.”

“Personal?”

Julian shrugs, sticking the lollipop back in his mouth. “Customised to the intensity of relief you need, what kind of pain, where the pain is and all that. Makes it more effective at taking away the pain, you know?”

Logan tugs his bag higher on his good shoulder. Picking up anything heavier than his bag without his old fencing injury flaring... sounds like a dream, he thinks. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Julian grins.

They work out something fairly quickly, and Julian sets a date two days into the next week for Logan to pick up his potions. Logan leaves the shop with a little paper receipt, a promise of relief and the memory of a smile so sweet Logan cannot help but wonder what it would taste like against his own.

He dreams, that night, of butterscotch eyes that crinkle up in the corners like the gold foil of chocolate and of palms warm as honey. When he wakes up all that is left is a name that melts on the tip of his tongue.

_Julian_.

-

Julian tugs the hood further down over his head.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone in his vicinity, as far as he can sense, but there’s no mistaking the little red blinks of security cameras dotting the area. He turns into a quiet alleyway, following the flickering blue arrow of Google Maps away from the prying eyes of the cameras.

Immediately his nose wrinkles; there are black bags lining the alleyway emitting smells too foul to just be days-old food. Julian grumbles a little under his breath - trust Clark to have something come up the day their deal was supposed to go down. He’d have never stepped foot into this kind of alleyway otherwise.

He stops before a small grey door barely discernible from the grime of the surrounding concrete. This must be the place.

He murmurs a passcode under his breath, then exhales in relief when the door swings open with a small click, the smallest tendril of magic uncurling itself from the lock.

The inside of the building is thankfully much cleaner than the outside - the passageway from the door leads into a large room that is warmly lit and somewhat homey, albeit a little messy. It feels very _Clark_ , Julian thinks, more so than any of Clark’s previous hideaways. There are sigils on the wall he vaguely remembers Clark insisted on burying into his own walls when he first moved into his apothecary; it makes Julian smile. Clark’s careful work through and through.

The woman sitting on the couch looks up from her phone. “Clark’s delivery?”

Julian just nods, not bothering to tug his mask off. She might be part of Clark’s coven, but it doesn’t mean Julian’s willing to trust her.

Especially not with this kind of deal.

Clark pokes his head out from a room further down the hall. “J!”

His shoulder is heavily bandaged, still spotty in some places with blood; the stains stand out against the white of the bandage even in the dim wateriness of evening light coming through the window. Julian winces - it looks fresh, most likely from this morning.

He prods the bandage gently as he enters Clark’s room. “This why you couldn’t swing by the shop this morning?”

Clark grunts. “Cameron’s people sold us out, it got messier than I expected. Sorry about making you come all the way here, by the way.”

Julian doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to pull out the drawstring bag of clinking vials from his backpack. He retrieves a pale blue vial from the dozen or so stoppered bottles, and uncorks it for Clark.

Clark grins wanly. “You sure this is the pain reliever and not the poison draught?”

Julian snorts, carefully tipping the clear liquid into Clark’s mouth. “I should give you one of the poison ones instead, for making me walk through the garbage outside.”

Clark laughs, relaxing as the pain reliever works its magic through his bloodstream. “How else am I gonna keep people away from our entrance?”

“Spells... wards...” Julian re-stoppers the vial and returns it to the bag. “Regular magic things the rest of us use, maybe?”

Clark’s eyes trace his movements. “Too lazy to cast them.”

“You’re just too lazy to throw out your damn trash properly,” Julian says, and is rewarded with the brightness of Clark’s laugh. “The purple stoppered ones are the poison ones. Six in total. Do I have to label them with a biohazard sign for you?”

Clark wrinkles his nose. “I’m not stupid.”

“Ah, but the rest of your coven might be-“

Clark swats him with his good hand, laughing. “Be careful, sorcerer, or the witch outside will come after you.”

“Like I can’t hold my own against Natasha,” Julian says. He tightens the knot on the drawstring bag. “Remember, they take four to five minutes to stop the heart. You want me to put this in your fridge?”

“Yes, please.” Clark gestures towards the mini fridge next to the bed. It takes a while for Julian to rearrange the small vodka bottles on its shelf to have enough space to tuck the small bag into, but he gets it eventually.

When he is done Julian straightens up and surveys the room. It’s smaller than he thought Clark’s room would be - there is only a desk and a bed pushed up against the only window in the room. The desk is perpendicular to the head of the bed, its cork board full of faces Julian is only vaguely familiar with. There are a number of photos of Clark’s coven and no small amount of coded post-it notes with little cryptic reminders scribbled on them; tucked in the corner of the cork board is a little photo of him and Clark, arms around each other, squinting against the sun on the beach they grew up on.

“I forgot about this photo,” he says. His fingers ghost over the gloss. “The last time we went home before you joined your coven.”

Clark’s voice softens. “One of my favourite trips back home.”

“We could go home together more often if you just-“

Clark just sighs, cutting him off. “We’ve gone over this - I’m not abandoning my coven, J.”

“You could just take a break-“

Clark makes a small sound of frustration. “Once the damned turf war between all the covens in this damn city lets up I’ll be the first one to take a break, J. Until then I won’t be putting my family - or yours - in danger by going home.”

Julian remains silent. He _knows_ Clark is right, he _knows_ it is nothing but dangerous to bring the drama Clark is embroiled in back home. But something in him, something small and young and yearning, aches for the warm weight of Clark’s arm around his shoulders and the glare of sun in his eyes and the feel of sand between his toes-

“-you should go,” Clark is saying. “I’ve put you in enough danger asking you to come here. If anyone tails you back they’ll mark you as one of ours and you’ll be dragged in too.”

“I’m a sorcerer, I can take you witches anytime,” Julian snarks, but his hands are already zipping his backpack closed. “Let me know if your shoulder still hurts tomorrow, I’ll brew you a stronger batch.”

Clark grins appreciatively. “You’re the best.”

Julian just waves him away, swinging his backpack over his shoulders and tugging his hood lower over his face. “As long as you remember.”

-

Three stirs counter-clockwise. Four sprigs of mint. Five stirs clockwise.

Done.

The potion turns a satisfying shade of cream, and Julian carefully lowers the fire to a gentle simmer. With this part of the brewing process over with he can relax, stretching to ease out the kinks in his back - it’s going to be another three hours of bubbling before it’ll be ready for the next step. Might as well go next door to see if he can bum another free coffee off of Bailey before his next appointment.

His phone chimes quietly just as he steps out from behind his stove. _From Kurt: Yeah, figured he’d be your type._

Julian scowls. _I don’t have a type._

_Tall? Blonde? Ring a bell?_

_No_ , he types back, then shoves his phone in his pocket. Fucking Kurt.

It’s not that he hasn’t been able to get the man off of his mind since he came in on Friday, but in between catching up on restocking and juggling custom potion orders like Clark’s, there has been something about the way Logan looked, shoulder to shoulder with his shelves of hyacinths and brushed with evening light... Julian scrunches up his nose slightly. It’s probably because he hasn’t seen a new good looking man in a hot second. That’s probably it.

He wipes down his bench, tossing all unused flower stems into the trash, but thoughts of Logan keep slipping into his mind like they have all weekend, smooth as sand - returning again and again to his memory are the soft green of the man’s eyes and the curve of his jaw.

Maybe there _is_ some merit to Kurt’s text.

Whatever it is, Julian has better things to do than think about him. He’s just a customer (and Kurt’s boss, nonetheless) and honestly? Probably isn’t even interested in Julian anyway. He didn’t even bat an eye when Julian turned to grab the relief potion off of the higher shelves, giving him what Julian considers to be a great view of his ass, and he remained stony-faced the entire time Julian talked him through the potion ordering process.

(It doesn’t stop Julian’s mind from thinking about the great view of the man’s ass though.)

Julian sighs, moving to the front counter. Logan’s due to come in after work today to collect his order, which gives him a solid two hours to get coffee, wrap up his thirsting and get his shit together.

But before he can remove his apron his wards go off, sending a light bell ring through the shop.

Julian looks up, ready to greet a new customer, when his eyes meet cool green.

Oh.

“Hello,” Logan says. Somehow his voice is nicer than Julian remembered.

“You’re early,” Julian blurts, and immediately flushes. Fuck.

“Ah- I am,” Logan has the decency to look slightly abashed. “My meeting ended early, so I figured I’d pop by and...”

His voice trails off lightly as he waves a hand, hair falling slightly into his face with the movement. _Cute_ -

Julian coughs. “Of course.”

He leans under the counter to retrieve Logan’s order, praying the red burn in the tip of his ears aren’t all that noticeable. “I added more willow bark for you for more muscle pain relief. You mentioned you drink coffee pretty often, right?”

Logan laughs, a soft echo that hangs in the air between them. “Bailey can attest to that, and I’ve only been here two months.”

A small part of Julian wonders if he should ask Bailey about Logan’s coffee order. Another part of him wonders what it would be like to get coffee with Logan. He squashes them both down. “I added a little brown sugar and peanut extract so you can add it into your coffee whenever.”

“Ah-“ Logan doesn’t quite meet his eye. “I’m.” He runs his fingers through his hair. Julian tries not to let his eyes follow them. “I’m allergic to peanuts.”

_Fuck_.

Julian flushes. Fuck. _Fuck_.

In Julian’s haste trying to take Logan’s order under the candle of his gaze he completely forgot to ask about Logan’s allergies.

Fuck, he could have killed Logan - brewing commissioned poison draughts is one thing, but having someone (especially someone this attractive, his brain supplies unhelpfully) die by his absolute carelessness is another. “I’m so sorry, I’ll brew you a new batch. I‘ll brew you a new batch right now.”

He sees Logan pause, and quickly tacks on an, “If you’re not busy, that is. You can always come collect them another day if you are-“

“No, I’m free,” Logan interrupts. There is a hint of pink on his cheeks that could definitely be a trick of the afternoon light. “If you don’t mind me staying.”

Of course he doesn’t.

He makes sure to take down Logan’s impressively extensive list of allergies this time, and it takes him less than a minute to gather all the herbs he needs before leading Logan to the relatively hidden part of the apothecary housing his stove.

“Wow,” is the first thing Logan breathes out when he steps into the space.

Julian doesn’t bother holding back his proud grin. It is a pretty nice space, if he does say so himself - set in the middle of the space blocked off by rows of potted flowers and herbs is a pale marble countertop inlaid with multiple burners and a modern sink. It is slightly cluttered with tiny trays of dried herbs Julian uses the most often, but otherwise clean and free of stains.

There is a skylight right above the entire set-up that washes the space with natural afternoon sun, and it is this light that tangles itself into the pale of Logan’s hair. It makes Logan look like spun gold.

He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Logan turns to look at him. He flushes and coughs lightly, waving his hand so that a stool comes floating out from behind the front counter to settle in front of the stove. “Have a seat.”

Logan obliges, long legs folding themselves onto the footrest of the stool, and as Julian settles into the rhythm of breaking up the willow bark Logan strikes up a small conversation. “You’re a sorcerer, right? Like Kurt?”

Julian hums, pestle methodically clinking against the side of his mortar. “Yep. Although he’s far more adjusted to office life than I am.”

“Are there a lot of sorcerers here?”

Julian empties the pestle into a clean pot. “Not really, I think, I’ve only heard of Kurt and one of his other friends being sorcerers. Are there a lot where you come from?”

“More than two, that’s for sure,” Logan says. His eyes track Julian’s movements as he fills the pot with water. “Not many go into the apothecary business, though. The ones I know either settle into nine to fives or go into the entertainment business.”

Julian tips a dish of dried lavender into the slowly-warming pot. “Making magic on the screen?”

Logan laughs at this, full and startled. “No, theatre. Usually stage managers, since you’re able to handle lights and sound and props easily and all that.”

Julian makes the mistake of looking up at Logan’s laugh - he is instantly hit with the sparkle of eyes crescent-bent and a smile softening, and he knows without a doubt this is the kind of smile he will be seeing in his dreams for nights to come. “Cool,” he manages. “Cool.”

His one remaining braincell putters about, trying to find something else to say, before it finally lands on a, “How’re you finding this city? You mentioned you’ve been here two months?”

Logan shrugs. He looks down at his hands. “Haven’t really done anything outside of work, so. Nothing much to find.”

Julian waves a wooden spoon over to the bubbling pot, and it stirs counter-clockwise gently. “Must be boring.”

Logan snorts. “God, yeah, I really am a boring person.”

It makes Julian splutter slightly, but before he can slide out an indignant, “That’s not what I meant-“ Logan is already laughing. “I am, though. All I do is binge Netflix anyway, since I don’t really have friends to hang out with.”

“You can hang out with me.”

It slips out, unfiltered, before Julian can catch himself, and it takes him one, two seconds before the weight of his invitation crashes back down on him. _Fuck_.

But Logan is smiling, and it shines something so hesitant and hopeful Julian cannot find it in himself to take back what he has said. “I usually work alone,” he says, instead. “So you can come by whenever.”

Logan’s resulting beam lights up the entire room better than the skylight ever could.

-

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Inviting Logan to spend time in the apothecary was the stupidest decision he has ever made, hands down.

It’s one thing spending his nights thinking about the way Logan’s gaze sends fireworks sparking along the sand of his skin, and another thing for it to happen in person - Logan shows up one day after work, silver-framed glasses perched on the high of his nose and rosy flush painted across the watercolour of his cheeks, and when he arrives in front of Julian Julian can barely suppress the blush rising from the base of his throat.

For some reason he sends Julian’s heart racing.

He seats himself across Julian’s stove, background to the flurry of pots bubbling away, and somehow, by some miracle of magic, they fall into a conversation easy as breathing.

They spend the evening talking about everything under the sun, about the way Logan was sent to this branch of the company on a year-long contract by his asshole of a manager, and the way Julian has been operating the apothecary for as long as he’s been of legal age. He learns that Logan is part-vila on his mother’s side (which greatly explains the whole blonde-hair ocean-eye situation, in Julian’s opinion), and Logan shrugs in understanding when he learns Julian doesn’t remember his sorcerer parents ever being in the same room together. They laugh when Logan tells him about the time he nearly got arrested for egging the house of someone who insulted his stepmother, and sober up Julian tells him about how he started picking up potions so he could nurse the neighbourhood stray kittens back to health.

They talk way into the night, talk until Julian locks up the store after a whole evening of non-productivity, talk until they part ways at the bus stop, and when Julian floats home that night he goes to sleep dreaming of Logan’s laugh and the way it shines like lighthouse flashes on the unsteady waves of his own heartbeat.

Julian wonders if he will continue coming in.

He does. He starts popping by in the evenings every few days, sometimes bearing bagels and sometimes bearing coffee, and he comes in so often that Julian expects him to walk through the door every time the wards sound. On the days he doesn’t come in Julian spends just as much time thinking about him as on the days he does.

By the end of the month Julian feels like he has known Logan forever.

And it’s stupid, he knows, the way he can barely get anything done when Logan is around - instead of completing restocks he spends golden hours laughing at some stupid thing that went down at Logan’s office or listening to Logan bitch about clients, and instead of catching up on orders he spends late evenings basking in the silver glow of Logan’s smile. Instead of drifting off to sleep when he tucks himself into bed he spends nights wondering if this feeling, this bloom of exhilaration between his teeth when he thinks about Logan, is what it is like to fall a little in love.

Maybe falling in love is supposed to feel this way, Julian thinks, a heart hammering between your fingertips on a rollercoaster that only goes up. But there is just something about Logan that makes being with him so ridiculously easy, as if he has always been here and always will be, as if all this is just a slip-slide fade into a future that dangerously sounds like forever.

Clark catches them together one time, bent in half laughing their asses off about something couldn’t even possibly be funny, and when he disappears into the night with a clinking potion bag Julian receives a text with a suggestive smiley face that reads, _this why you couldn’t deliver?_

_Shut up_ , Julian taps out. _It’s because your new place is a garbage dump._

_Harhar_ , comes the reply. _Nothing to do with the heart eyes you were making at Blondie?_

_Absolutely not_ , Julian hammers back. _There’s nothing going on._

Oh, but isn’t there.

He looks up, once, in the middle of a particularly complicated brew to push the hair out of his eyes, and immediately feels the fever of Logan’s eyes on his skin. When he looks over at Logan Logan is contemplating him quietly, gaze nothing like the tidal waves Julian is used to receiving from him but instead something gentle, something tender, almost. It is full of an emotion Julian has not yet learned to name.

Logan looks away.

Julian swallows thickly, looking back down; he can’t help but wonder why the stare of someone this familiar has suddenly made him feel like he is nothing but a ship with ripped sails trapped in the middle of a storm. 

It happens again and again and again, these soft glances when he thinks Julian is not looking. He steals them like he thinks Julian will never notice, like he thinks Julian cannot feel the flicker of his eyes on the kindling of his skin.

_Sure_ , Clark’s text drawls. _Sure there isn’t._

Julian shoves his phone into his pocket, and does not reply.

But the thought bubbles through Julian’s head for the rest of the night, an undercurrent to the steady flow of conversation, and every time Logan’s gaze alights on him, impossibly fond, he finds himself wandering into _what if_ s and _maybe_ s he has never before dared to explore.

Maybe Clark is right.

And maybe he’s wrong - maybe Logan hasn’t been looking at him like that at all and it’s just been Julian projecting what he wants to see into the crescents of Logan’s smile.

But...

_I’m just saying,_ Julian’s phone dings just when he is about to climb into bed _. But when I walked in he was handing you your herbs in all the right order even though he obviously isn’t versed in potions. He’s clearly been paying more attention to you than you think - maybe he’s been looking at you all this time and you just haven’t realised it yet._

Julian buries his head into his pillow and _screams_.

-

“It’s raining.”

Logan looks up from the doorway, frowning. “Do we want to order in instead?”

“No,” Julian says. His gaze is directed at the slight drizzle. “No, you wanted to try that new bar right? Let’s go out.”

“We don’t have to-“

Julian spares him a glance. “No, let’s go. It’s perfect weather.”

“Perfect weather for what?”

Julian just grins, stepping out into the grey. “For enjoying the rain.”

Dots immediately start appearing on Julian’s clothes the moment the drizzle meets his skin; despite the dim of the rain the yellow tint of the streetlights makes Julian seem almost radiant.

Logan tries not to stare.

He tugs an umbrella out from his messenger bag, if only to give his hands something to do, and steps out after Julian. He offers him the open umbrella. “Umbrella?”

“No,” Julian says. He tips his head back. “Feels good.”

“You’d get the same feeling standing under a cold shower,” Logan points out, but Julian just snorts, waving him away.

“It’s not the _same_.”

They start their trek to the bar two blocks over that is decidedly Not Dwight’s, comfortable silence padding the unbridgeable space between them.

It’s nice being able to do this, he thinks, this casual going out with Julian. This time last month he was being chased out of his office by a surly secretary; now six o’clock cannot come fast enough for him to close the office door behind them. Even Derek complained about Logan not calling home as often as he used to.

Sure, his coworkers are nothing but amazing - Kurt is by far the most efficient secretary he has ever had, and the vague chaos of the twins’ department next door has somehow grown on him more than he expected. But finding someone out of work to spend time with? He’s grateful for a friend.

A friend.

Logan exhales quietly. He knows, he’s _aware_ , that Julian extending the branch of friendship to him is already something he should be thankful for, but there’s just... there’s a knot in the hollow of Logan’s throat that aches something tender, that yearns for something more, and try as he might he still finds himself unable to undo it.

Because this is the Julian he has come to know - a Julian with a heart three sizes too big for the rest of him. A Julian that can talk circles around him and isn’t afraid to snark back with a tongue sharp as whiskey, a Julian that pulls him back from the edge of stupidity with fond exasperation, a Julian that pours all of himself into the things he loves.

A Julian that takes Logan’s breath away.

Logan doesn’t want to count the number of times he’s caught himself staring at Julian, a hair’s breadth away from blurting out the truth, but he knows, he _knows_. This is a man who has managed to fit himself into the crevices of Logan’s thoughts, who has slot himself into the spaces between Logan’s heartbeats.

Julian may have been born with magic, but oh, the way he must be magic itself.

When he sneaks a look at Julian Julian’s bangs are lightly matted to his forehead, tiny ponytail loose and glistening with rain. His eyes are trained somewhere upwards, a soft caramel in the yellow of the street.

He’s beautiful. 

“Julian.” The name slips out of Logan’s mouth before he can stop it. Julian half-turns to him. 

There is something glorious about the way the streetlight frames the glow of Julian’s laugh, like it knows of the way his smile can light up the corners it cannot.

“I don’t know how you feel about me,” Logan blurts, “and I don’t know if it’s anything like the way you make me feel, but I- I just-“ He has to pause; his next words blow out all at once in a warm exhale. “I like you. A lot.”

When Julian looks, _looks_ at him, it feels like the world has stopped.

And in a way it _has_ \- he can no longer hear the thunder of rain on the sidewalks over far-away whispers of wind; instead, suspended around them are raindrops, winking in and out of streetlight like crystals blinking off of tips of ocean waves. 

They hang in the air, individual diamonds quivering in absence of wind, a fragility that presses tight against Logan’s skin. He does not dare blink for fear the moment will break.

But Julian, Julian moves like a sunbeam - his eyes round out the smile that paints itself across his face, as if he does not see what has happened around them, as if he is looking at Logan and Logan alone; there is something in his eyes shining enough like hope that it takes all of Logan’s words away.

A small _oh_ slips out from Logan’s lips, and when the tiny puff of awe does not shatter what has grown, glass-thick, between them, it hits Logan all at once that this, all _this_ , is Julian’s doing.

“This,” Julian whispers, “This is the way you make me feel.”

Julian, this boy of sharp and gold and tender. This boy of magic and bright. His words sink their way into Logan’s bones and shows him what it feels like to be set on fire.

“Go out with me,” Logan breathes, and Julian _beams_.

He makes to move towards Logan, and as he does the raindrops part way for him like the red sea.

“God, Logan,” Julian says. When he runs his thumb over the curve of Logan’s cheekbone there is something warm in his eyes that burns through the racing hammer of Logan’s heartbeat. “Of course.”

-

Julian presses himself closer into Logan’s side. “God, it’s fucking cold.”

Logan just glances down, amused. “You’re the one who suggested we go out to the ice-skating rink.”

“I regret it,” Julian grumbles. He clutches tighter onto Logan’s arm and burrows his nose into the curve of Logan’s shoulder. “It’s way too cold to be outside.”

Logan hums, reaching inside his padded coat for his phone to check the weather. “It’s supposed to snow soon, too.”

“God,” Julian groans. He stops in the middle of the grey sidewalk. “I take back what I said about ice-skating, let’s go back to the apothecary.”

He tugs a little on the crook of Logan’s elbow to turn him around, and Logan laughs, obliging. “It’s the first snow of the year though. Don’t you want to be outside for it?”

“No,” Julian sulks; it just makes Logan laugh harder. “I don’t like the snow. It’s cold.”

“That’s what you said about standing in the rain.”

“Rain is _different_ , it isn’t _this_ cold!”

Logan snorts, tugging Julian closer to his side. “Wanna get hot chocolate from Bailey’s before we head back in?”

Julian brightens up immensely. “It’s like you know the way to my heart.”

Logan ignores the way Julian’s words make his heart skip a beat.

They barely take two steps in the direction of the apothecary when Logan feels something cold land on the tip of his nose.

He cannot help the small smile that finds its way onto his face - swirling in lazy free fall around them are tiny flecks of white, nearly invisible in the grey of the afternoon.

First snow.

When he glances over at Julian he almost laughs - Julian’s nose is bright red and scrunched up in distaste. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and he has to blink off the snowflakes lightly dusting his eyelashes; his lips are slightly parted, exhaling tiny puffs of white that turn into a huge huff when he catches Logan staring.

“What,” Julian demands.

“There’s this saying,” Logan murmurs. He watches Julian’s expression carefully. “There’s this saying that if you kiss someone during first snow you’ll stay together for a long time.”

He sees Julian’s breath catch, a little pause as Julian processes his words, and as understanding dawns in Julian’s eyes he slowly raises his free hand to run his thumb over Julian’s cheek.

Julian does not pull away.

His voice is low when he responds to Logan’s unspoken question. “Good thing we’re outside right now, then.”

When they meet it is nothing but sweet.

Julian is warm and gentle and everything Logan has expected and more - he tastes soft, all glow of a Sunday morning, all pillows and sheets. He tastes like the sum of September, like the tail end of summer rain, and there is something about the way he fits into Logan like they were cut from the same puzzle that makes him taste like forever.

_Forever_ settles, glowing, at the bottom of Logan’s spine.

Forever is a long time, Logan knows, but here, standing in the first snow, his hands on the pink of Julian’s cheeks, suddenly it doesn’t seem like a long time at all.

-

The doorbell tinkles lightly.

Julian’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t have an appointment, and it’s too early for Logan to come over for lunch. The wards didn’t trigger, which means it’s not someone he needs to protect himself against; yet, there is a nagging feeling somewhere in his stomach...

A mop of dark blonde hair rounds the corner, brushing past the curtain of hydrangeas.

Clark.

Julian shuts his order booklet and sets his pen down. This can’t be good.

“Nice of you to call ahead-“ he starts, but there is something wild and urgent in the storm of Clark’s eyes that he stops himself in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“They know about you,” Clark says. “Patrick caught wind of someone on Pike’s side talking about you.”

“Talking what about me?”

“They know,” Clark pauses. Whether it is out of doubt or fear Julian cannot tell. “They know you were the one supplying us with poison draughts.”

“And?”

Clark does a slight double take at Julian’s bored tone. “They might come after you.”

Julian scoffs. “You know I can take them. You witches are nothing to me.”

Clark makes a slight noise of irritation. “You can take them, but what about your boy?”

Julian stops. Logan.

_Logan_.

“They wouldn’t,” he says, but Clark’s words come entangled in an entire web of horror. “They _wouldn’t_.”

But as he repeats the words he feels a chill trickle down his spine, because they would, oh, they would. Because the witch turf wars are fuelled with fear and loyalty, and the need to protect their own has always and will always rise above all else.

The same way Julian’s need to protect his own has always and will always rise above all else.

The stress is rolling off him in waves now, air between them shimmering like a heat haze. He has always made a point of keeping out of the thick of Clark’s turf wars, choosing instead to remain relatively impartial in his territory and only lending a hand when the usually-capable Clark is at a loss, but now...

Now there is Logan.

Now he has something worth attacking, something worth defending, and they are choosing to drag him into the fray kicking and screaming.

“J,” Clark murmurs. “Easy there.”

Only at the sound of his voice does Julian notice the trembling gold sheen of the room, the quiet rattling of glass; only when Clark takes his clenched fists in his own does Julian realise the way the house of his hands have been aching.

His voice comes out as a croak. “They can’t touch Logan.”

Realistically, he knows that some part-vila section of Logan would be fine with healing or fighting or whatever, but something in the pit of his stomach insists to the contrary, especially with the underhanded way he has seen some of the witches fight. He sure as hell doesn’t want to let it go on long enough to find out.

Julian takes a deep breath. In, out.

_There’s this saying that if you kiss someone during first snow you’ll stay together for a long time._

Hands, warm. A kiss, even warmer.

Another deep breath. In and out.

“-J, please,” Clark is saying, “all you’ll need to do is just lay low for a couple weeks. Skip town, go home, go on a one-man cruise around the world or something. Just until you no longer ping their radar. It’ll be safer for the both of you.”

Julian just stares at him. When he tries to speak it feels like his tongue is made of fog and cotton. “I can’t.”

Clark looks torn between sheer disbelief and shaking Julian into the ground. “Just until they stop looking at you. What if- what if they go after Blondie?”

“I can’t,” Julian says, and as the words claw themselves out of his throat he feels them quake with a sureness even he is startled by. “I won’t. If they already have eyes on me... there’s no point in me leaving. I- I don’t want to leave Logan at their mercy.”

“I know,” Clark says, “but...”

Julian barely hears the rest of Clark’s sentence.

How does he wrap it all up in words? How does he explain the way Logan makes him feel like moonlight is licking the inside of his ribs, all silver and glowing? How does he put into words the way Logan has slid into his life this past year, weightless, filling his bones with a density that makes being in love feel like he is swimming in stardust?

And how can he explain the way he cannot go back to living a life without Logan now that he has already gotten a taste of the way his heart feels without gravity?

“No,” Julian says, finally, and it rings with such a finality that Clark drops his hands.

“If they try to come after me,” Julian wills his hands to stop trembling, “if there’s even the slightest possibility that Logan’s in danger... I- I want to be by his side. I _need_ to be by his side.”

Clark rocks back on his heels, quiet.

Julian’s eyes fix onto Clark’s, sun on ocean, and he _wills_ Clark to understand. If this is a knife fight, for Logan he will go in all guns blazing.

“Be careful,” is the only thing Clark says, and just like that he fades away into the morning.

-

Logan hears him before he sees him.

There is a small thump on Kurt’s table outside his office, followed by Kurt’s delighted gasp. “Is this for me?”

Silence.

Then Kurt’s voice again, this time more wry, “Or is it for tall, blonde and Abercrombie back there?”

The golden peal of Julian’s laughter rings out through the office, bright and infectious; Logan finds himself smiling along unconsciously. He flips the covers of his folders closed and pushes them to one side - if Julian is here there’s no point planning to get work done.

“He’s tall and blonde, sure,” comes Julian’s low drawl, “but no way he’s Abercrombie.”

Logan’s smile disappears, and he huffs, standing up to push open his office door. “What do you mean I’m not Abercrombie!”

The resulting honey of Julian’s laugh spreads through Logan’s veins; Logan struggles to keep his offended expression on. He levels a pointer at Julian. “I’ll have you know that most of the vila and part-vila I know are either actors or models-“

“Ah, then what does it say that you’re stuck here in an office job,” Julian says, but his eyes are crinkling up in the corners in the way Logan has come to love, and Logan cannot find it in himself to snark back.

He drops his miffed expression, doesn’t try to hold back his stupid grin. “You came?”

Julian’s smile softens. He waved to the paper box next to him. “I brought lunch.”

“Bagels?”

“Your favourite.”

Something in Logan’s heart swells. He’d have thought that by now, eight entire months into dating, Julian’s little surprises would stop taking his breath away. And yet here he is, standing in front of Logan’s office with a hand on a box of bodega bagels, grinning like there is nowhere else he’d rather be - the sight catches Logan’s heart in his throat.

“God, stop flirting in front of me already,” Kurt flicks a paper clip in Julian’s direction. Logan can hear the smile bubbling under his mock-annoyance. “I just went to the dentist last week.”

Logan just laughs, hand on the doorknob pushing his door back open. “Go on your lunch break, Kurt.”

Kurt beams and grabs his phone. “I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Or if you do, clean up before I come back!”

He tosses them a saucy wink over his shoulder, then bounces out of their sight.

Julian groans. “Jesus Christ.”

He brushes past Logan’s laughter into the office and sets the box of bagels down, making as if to sit down, but the moment Logan closes the door he feels Julian launch himself into his arms.

“Missed you,” comes the muffled murmur. 

Logan snorts gently, arms wrapping around Julian. He presses a kiss into Julian’s hair. “Bad morning?”

“Mm,” Julian mumbles. He tilts his head slightly to let Logan kiss his temple. “Really wanted to see you.”

Logan tightens his arms around Julian. “You could have asked me to come over.”

Julian just shakes his head slightly. “Couldn’t wait.”

They stay like that for a while, tangled against his office door. Logan makes sure not to let go until Julian does.

It’s almost as if they don’t already spend their nights together, as if Logan doesn’t wake up with Julian’s nose pressed into the sweet spot between his neck and shoulder. But there is something more to this that Julian isn’t telling him, he’s sure, and if this is what Julian needs, Logan thinks, he isn’t going to be the one to deny it.

They spend the hour holed up in Logan’s office, Logan behind his desk and Julian with his feet curled up on his chair, talking about Julian’s morning customers and the particularly difficult order Clark placed when he came in before lunch. Logan knows absolutely nothing about potions beyond what he sees Julian handle in the store, but there’s something about the way Julian kicks his feet up and complains about his suppliers and customers that makes it feel awfully domestic.

It makes it feel like he could keep doing this for the rest of his life.

Sure, if you asked Logan half a year ago if he wanted to move to back to his city he would have packed up in a heartbeat, but now... it feels like there might be something worth staying for. Something about the way Julian has melted into his life like they are nothing but two raindrops meeting on a windowpane, like he was always meant to be here, hand-in-hand with Julian.

His mind flickers to the transfer application form that Kurt left on his desk in the morning, a quiet request for him to stay. It smoulders in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, the possibility of a future in this town.

A possibility of a future with Julian.

-

Julian stirs.

It’s still warm under the covers, sure, but something’s missing.

Logan.

Julian’s eyes fly open, but before his heart flies out of his throat in panic the door to Logan’s bedroom creaks open.

“You’re awake,” Logan says. Balanced between his hands is a small tray with two mugs of steaming coffee and a little plate of pastries.

Logan kicks the door closed, gently, then sets the tray down at the foot of the bed. “Breakfast?”

The smell of coffee shakes Julian out of his funk, and he beams sleepily. “God, I love you.”

He sees Logan pause, just for a second, as they both fully register what has slipped out of Julian’s mouth, but before Julian can figure out how to backtrack Logan breaks into the widest grin he has ever seen.

“If I knew breakfast in bed was the way to get you to love me I would have done it sooner,” Logan laughs. He leans over to kiss Julian awake, and as they break apart he murmurs a quiet, “I love you too,” against Julian’s lips.

Julian is so giddy he feels like he could burst; just like that, something dissipates into the bright of morning light and leaves Julian feeling like the wreath of his ribs have been painted gold. Logan, Logan, Logan.

“You’ve been having nightmares a lot lately,” Logan says. He drags the tray of food closer to them, and hands Julian a mug. “I figured this would be a good way to wake up.”

And it is, it really is - except… _I’ve been having nightmares about you being attacked_ , Julian wants to say. _I’ve been dreaming about people going after you when I’m not around, about you being in danger and me not noticing until it’s too late._

But this is Logan, and Julian already knows what Logan will say. _Attacked by who_ , he will ask, bemused, and Julian will have to tell him about the way he has been supplying Clark’s coven with literal poison meant to poison literal people just so Clark can put an end to the infernal turf wars. He knows he should tell Logan at some point, let Logan decide what to do with the information and the knowledge that Julian is not the good person he thinks he is; he owes Logan that much. And yet he swallows the words, holds them underwater - there will come a morning without Logan by his side, and Julian is not yet ready for it.

“Thank you,” he says, instead. “It is.”

Logan takes it. He reaches out his thumb over Julian’s cheekbone, tucks his hair behind his ears. “You know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about this. About us.”

Julian’s heart seizes.

“My contract’s ending in a month,” Logan says. He looks down, doesn’t quite meet Julian’s eyes. “They- they asked me if I wanted to extend my contract here another year.”

There is no reason to think Logan doesn’t want to, and yet the fear rises like a tide in the hollow of Julian’s throat. He doesn’t trust that his voice will not crack, but the words slip out anyway, terrified. “Will you?”

Logan pulls his hand back. He takes a deep breath, then, almost shyly, “Only if you want me to.”

God, he does. He wants Logan to be with him, to be his, permanently, indelibly; he wants to spend winter nights buried in the warmth of Logan’s arms and to wake up on summer mornings with the taste of Logan on his lips.

Except... Clark’s words flicker in the back of his mind, tired neon sign of warning. The now-familiar taste of fear bubbles up like bile in his chest - Logan staying here means he will always be in some sort of danger, and Julian will not always be around to defend him. They will always be living with a sword hanging above their heads because of Julian.

But he looks, _looks_ at Logan and the way Logan’s eyes are soft and fond and apprehensive all at once, as if he has ever doubted that Julian would want him around forever, and…

This is what Julian knows like the back of his hand - that goldthread will help with insomnia, but only when brewed by the light of the moon. That you can apply bromelain paste to burns, but only to those not caused by green fire.

That he loves Logan, sure as the sun, sure as the day follows the night. That Logan loves him.

That somehow, in the span of the last ten months, he has leaked as irreversibly into Logan as Logan has leaked into him, and try as he might there will be nothing he can do to wipe away the scent of Logan from where he has diffused so thoroughly through the beat of Julian’s heart.

Julian breathes in, out.

“Stay,” he whispers, and as he reaches out for Logan’s hand Logan curls their fingers together. Intertwined, a tangle, one inseparable from the other. “Stay.”

-

Logan is mere steps from the apothecary when they strike.

Something stabs itself between the left side of his ribs and twists, sending a searing white writhing across his vision. It burns and it burns and it _burns_ , and Logan can barely choke out a breath before his legs are giving out beneath him, making way for a rush of hard pavement.

He crumples to the ground. The pain is like nothing he has ever experienced before, like someone has driven a needle the size of a truck through his ribs - he cannot manage shallow breaths without setting the inside of his chest on fire, but when his hands come up to press against the wound there is nothing embedded in the rough of his blazer.

Magic.

He barely has time to process the possibility before he feels a boot grind his right temple into the ground, forcing his neck to twist painfully in the direction of the apothecary.

“Julian,” a voice drawls. It echoes like the chime of a thousand tower bells in the cavern of Logan’s consciousness.

_Julian_. There is a flash of panic before Logan realises it means they think he is Julian; he swallows the hysteria that threatens to bubble out from between his lips. If they think they’ve attacked Julian it means Julian is safe.

He prays to whoever is listening that Julian stays safe. That Julian does not step foot outside the apothecary.

The boot removes itself from his head, and there is a shift of movement behind him as the voice kneels closer to his head. When the voice sounds again it sends a ringing through Logan’s brain that doesn’t stop long after it has.

“Thought we wouldn’t trace those poison draughts back to you, didn’t you?”

_Poison draughts? What the fuck?_

“Not gonna lie,” the voice continues, silky smooth. “I was expecting a better fight from Clark’s pet sorcerer. But do tell your precious Clark Cameron sends his regards-"

The door to the apothecary flies open.

Julian.

Logan’s heart seizes. No. No, n _o, no_. He opens his mouth to make a sound of alarm, something, _anything_ to warn Julian, to tell him to keep himself safe, _please_ , but the burn from his ribs has eaten its way into his throat and it rips away any sound Logan is about to make. The only thing that comes out is a sob - _Julian_.

But then he hears Julian roar.

His bellow is low and guttural at first, but then it swells into a furious strike, a lash that whips, razor-sharp, through the air towards Logan’s attacker. His eyes are a blazing gold; it is not the whiskey-burn Logan is so used to but something hungrier, something far more dangerous and wrathful.

It knocks the heavy presence behind Logan away with the sheer force of its rage.

Instantly the excruciating stab through Logan’s chest disappears - cool air floods the ravaged ribbons of his throat, making bright spots dance in his vision. Logan gulps in the coldness of relief, but no matter how much he gasps for air it still does not put out the flames that still scorches through his veins. Try as he might to uncurl himself from the grey of concrete he cannot move a muscle.

For a brief moment Logan wonders if this is what it feels like to be dying.

Julian takes one, two, three strides forward. His hand is outstretched, forming a fist around nothing; not even a second later Logan hears a strangled choke sound out behind him. When Julian finally speaks his voice rumbles with an anger far bigger than either of them. “How dare you touch him.”

“You- you’re- you’re Julian-“

Julian yanks his fist down. A dull thud shakes the ground behind Logan. “And you’re from Pike’s.”

The mass does not reply.

Julian’s voice is low now, a controlled boil that barely makes it through the growing cotton wool in Logan’s brain. The venom in his snarl washes in from a million miles away. “You run back to where you came from, and you tell Cameron this: I do not care who he thinks he is. I do not care what happens in your turf wars, nor do I care what beef you have with Clark or any of the other fucking covens in this city. But if you hurt anyone I love ever again, if you so much as _step foot_ in front of them - none of you, _none_ of you, will live the night.”

The edges of Logan’s vision start to dim.

In the fading blur his eyes seek out Julian’s. They are fierce, unbearably so, as if carrying the fire of a thousand suns in his anger; yet they still carry the same spark Julian wears so often, an untamed shine Logan has come to recognise as love.

If all of this goes wrong, Logan thinks, he just wants one last memory of Julian like this, lightning-fierce, love-strong.

_Stay_.

Logan’s vision blurs, and goes black.

-

Logan’s head hurts.

His temples are throbbing, and there is something sticky in his eyes that takes him a while to work through. When he manages to force them open the evening light is so blinding he shuts them immediately.

For a moment he cannot think past the throbbing, but when it all comes back it comes back in a flood.

The pressure of a boot on the side of his face. The panic when he sees Julian push the door of the apothecary open, the pain held in the raw of Julian’s roar. The hysteria in his eyes when they alight on Logan, and the blazing anger he directs on Logan’s faceless attacker.

Julian. Julian-

He seizes in fear when he realises that he is alone in his bed and that there is no warmth on Julian’s side, but not even a breath later he hears Julian’s voice echoing from outside his door.

“I’ll do it,” Julian is saying. He sounds tired, so impossibly tired; Logan wishes he could sit up and make his way outside just to hold Julian.

There is a quiet before he sighs. “I’ll leave.”

Logan freezes. _Leave_?

“I know- I know, but they attacked him thinking he was me, and I just- You were right, he wouldn’t have been hurt if it- if it wasn’t for me.”

_You don’t understand_ , Logan thinks, and he struggles to sit up again. _I will sit through that furnace again and again if it is for you._

“I did- I thought I could protect him if I stayed, and-“ Julian pauses. He takes a breath, and it comes out sounding like a muffled sob. “And I couldn’t. I was wrong. I was being selfish.”

Logan pushes through the burn in his tired muscles, grits his teeth against the gnawing to sit up, because it’s not true, because Julian _did_ protect him and it wasn’t his fault that Logan was at the wrong place at the wrong time and-

The dull ache in his chest sharpens, forcing him back down.

“He’s... he’s supposed to go back to his own city this weekend, anyway. I was gonna go with him so he can clear the paperwork when his contract ends at the end of this month, but- but if I’m no longer here there’s no reason for him to come back, right? His transfer hasn’t even been approved yet, so if I leave he’ll go back and he’ll- he’ll be safe there. I’ll… I’ll leave. He’ll be safe without me.”

“Give me… give me until Wednesday,” Julian’s voice is softer now. A little more crushed, a little more subdued. It rips Logan apart.

“Let me say goodbye.”

Outside, the sky cracks open and _pours_.

No. No, no, _no_. Logan inhales sharply. “Jules?”

There is a slight scramble outside as Julian gets up from wherever he is sitting. “I gotta go, he’s awake.”

He steps into the room not a second later, phone smoothly tucked into his pocket. There are dark circles under his eyes and a certain weariness in his movements; yet his voice is steady as he approaches Logan’s bedside. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Logan says. They both wince when his voice comes out sounding scratchy.

Julian helps him sit up, arm under arm, but when the movement makes Logan grimace he turns to retrieve a large vial from the bedside table and uncorks it for Logan. “Drink up, the pain will ease within a few minutes. You got hit pretty badly in the chest.”

Logan does so, dutifully tipping small amounts down his throat. “So… about what happened…”

Julian sighs. He seats himself on the bed beside Logan, looking down at his hands. “How much do you know about the witches in this city?”

Logan pauses. Witches? “Not… not much. None of them in the office, really.”

Julian takes a deep breath, and as Logan continues downing the painkiller he begins to tell Logan about the turf wars. He tells Logan about the way Clark’s coven was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got dragged into a mess bigger than anything they imagined; he tells him about the way Clark ordered some draughts from him that would put members of the opposite coven out of commission. He tells him of the way Clark would do anything to protect his coven, of the way he would do anything to protect _Clark_ , and as Logan winds up at the end of the bottle Julian barely holds back the crack in his voice when he says, “I knew I would give up anything to keep my friends safe, but I didn’t know… I didn’t know that would include _you_.”

Logan sets down the vial, gathers Julian in his arms, and lets him cry.

He presses kisses into the crown of Julian’s hair, onto the smooth of Julian’s forehead, and as Julian murmurs _I’m sorry_ s and _I shouldn’t have let it happen_ s he tugs Julian’s weight closer to him and responds in kind with _it was not your fault, it was never your fault._

Safe or not, Logan thinks, tightening his arms around Julian - safe or not, if a future with Julian must be dark, then he’s going to take all the light he has and stick them in his pockets and jump right in.

Because this is Julian - always loyal to a fault. Always trying to heal, always trying to protect, always carrying things too big for him alone on the curve of his shoulders. Things he should never have to carry alone.

That night, when Julian is in the shower, Logan pretends not to see the notifications flashing on the lock screen of Julian’s phone. He pretends not to see the message previews from Clark telling Julian that the escape ride has been arranged for Wednesday afternoon, after Logan leaves for work.

That night, he holds Julian and pretends not to know that Julian intends to say goodbye.

When Logan is six, his mother leaves a sheaf of sticker paper on his bed. _They’re just tiny stickers with your name on them_ , she tells him. _You put your name on things you don’t want to lose_. Logan steadily works his way through half a sheet with no problem - the little holographic rectangles find their way onto his pencils and his books and everything in between. When the water bottles he always seems to misplace find their way back to him, shiny stickers winking from their bases, he starts believing in the power the tiny labels have in keeping things by his side.

He stops believing in it the day his mother moves out, even after he presses an entire sheet onto the hard shell of her suitcase.

But oh, the way he presses bruising kisses into the curve of Julian’s spine anyway, hangs his name from the roof of Julian’s mouth and the hoarse of his throat; how badly he wants to believe in it now. How badly he wants it to work, _needs_ it to work.

When he wakes up to the solid warmth of Julian’s weight still in his arms he prays to a god he has long ago abandoned that he will never have to let go.

-

“Lo, you’re gonna be late,” Julian calls out. He sets the last mug onto the drying rack before tilting his head back, trying to get a clear view into Logan’s bedroom. “It’s already eight fifty.”

Logan emerges from the bedroom, grumbling slightly. His tie is askew and his hair is slightly messy, pushed into disarray by the glasses Logan has shoved out of the way up his forehead. “I can’t get my tie right.”

Julian cannot help the fond smile that makes its way onto his face. He’s really going to miss- his eyes prickle slightly, and he shoves the thought out of his mind. He’s not going to think about this. Not now.

He reaches for the red of Logan’s tie. “You can’t always rely on magic to get your tie right.”

Logan just grins, eyes guileless, open. Happy. “Why can’t I?”

Julian opens his mouth. Closes it. Lets the smallest tendril of gold leak out from his fingertips. He watches as the knot fixes itself into a perfect square, shifting under Logan’s collar to fit snugly. He wonders if his magic can fix the knot in his throat the same way. “Done,” he says, instead. He hopes it doesn’t sound as choked as it feels.

“Hey,” Logan murmurs. He slides a finger under Julian’s chin and tips it upwards. When his eyes meet Julian’s they are nothing but soft, adoring. “I’ll come pick you up for dinner, alright?”

_You won’t_ , flashes through Julian’s mind instantly. He swallows them down, little bitter pills. “Of course.”

He lets Logan pull him into a hug for the last time. He lets himself sink into the curve of Logan’s chest, lets himself inhale the scent of Logan’s cologne, lets himself tuck his nose into the warmth of Logan’s neck. One last time.

He doesn’t expect the goodbye kiss Logan pulls him into right after, warmth of his lips all searing and sweet, all fire and promise, almost as if he knows, he _knows_ -

Julian shakes himself. There’s no way he knows. He lets Logan pull away. Stops himself from chasing after the soothe of his kiss.

“-see you tonight,” Logan is saying. His hand falls from the curve of Julian’s jaw.

“See you tonight,” Julian echoes.

He stands by the kitchen counter, impossibly still, until Logan leaves. If he does not move perhaps he will not shatter.

The door clicks closed behind Logan.

The dam breaks.

It starts off one tight sob, icicle to the space between his collarbones, but he can still taste Logan on the bite of his lips and the ghost of his warmth on his cheek; it brings Julian to his knees. The tears flow hot and fast now, because this is it - this is the last time he will kiss Logan goodbye and this is the last time Logan will fold him into the soft of home.

He sobs and sobs until the fatigue of his lungs forget the taste of air, until his muscles stop screaming Logan, Logan, Logan, with every breath he takes.

His boy of fierce, of flood. His boy of home.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually he finds himself pressed onto the cool of the kitchen tiles. The chill of the tiling calms him down a little, takes him away from the want, the _need_ echoing through every cell in his body to stay.

He has to go.

He lets one last shudder run through his body before picking his way off the floor. He makes his way to the bedroom, retrieves the black duffel bag he stuffed under Logan’s bed for this very day. He doesn’t have much in Logan’s apartment, given that he started stealing Logan’s clothes early on, but something in him makes him tosses a few of Logan’s t-shirts and hoodies into the bag anyway. He might… he might need them.

He casts one look around the bedroom before he shuts the door behind him. The bedsheets, rumpled from where he tangled himself into Logan last night. The curtains, pushed open slightly to allow just the softest sliver of morning light. The windows, riddled with micro-cracks from where he has unconsciously shattered and put them back together, time and time again, the same way Logan’s lips have taken him apart again and again just to piece him back together.

Julian takes a deep breath. Shuts the door.

He picks the folded note he wrote yesterday in the apothecary out of the back of his phone case, a simple _I love you_ scrawled across the receipt of Logan’s first ever order, and slips it under the coffee machine. He pauses for a moment, wonders if he should leave something longer, leave something similar to the first twenty-three drafts of the letter; the three words are all at once too much and not enough, too everyday but too painful.

But the hollow of his throat threatens to close up again, words he wants to press into Logan’s skin over and over again blistering themselves into tears, and Julian turns away. There will be time for this later, after he has driven his way into the next town and ditched his car before Oz picks him up. There will be time for regrets and the bitter tastes of maybes after he is sure that Logan is safe.

Julian heaves the duffel onto his shoulder. Slides the lock closed but leaves the keys on the hook by the door. Steps outside.

They say it is strangely easy to walk away from a life you’ve built with someone else - few clothes in a bag and an elevator trip down. But what they don’t tell you, Julian realises, is that no matter where you go you will still carry pieces of them with you. The wrinkles in the corner of their eyes when they laugh, wine-drunk, at the stupid jokes you make. The gentleness of green, almost sea-clear, when they curl their fingers into yours. The soft of their forehead against yours, dancing to music only the both of you can hear in a moonlight only the both of you seem to feel.

Julian inhales. Blinks the tears from his eyes. Starts the elevator trip down.

When he steps into the muggy heat of the carpark he waves his hand to unlock the car. He pauses when it doesn’t beep.

He approaches his car cautiously, magic already forming in the palm of his hand, ready to be launched. But as he gets closer to his car he realises he is not alone. Seated in the driver’s seat - carefully combed blonde hair, white shirt, red tie.

Logan.

_Logan_.

Logan winds down the window and grins cheerfully, as if he was not meant to be at work half an hour ago, as if he has not been waiting in the August heat for a man who meant to say goodbye. “Coming?”

Julian splutters slightly. He blinks twice, because this has to be a vision, some spectre his magic has conjured up to take the place of what he wants to see so badly. But when he opens his eyes Logan is still there, one hand on the steering wheel and the other propped up on the wound-down window. “What- what are you doing here?”

Logan just waves him towards the car again. “Get in.”

Julian knows he has to turn around, has to take his eyes off the goddamned man sitting in his car so he can regroup and figure out what to do, but there is something buried deep in the ache of his chest that tugs him towards Logan. He cannot tell if it is the call of vila or just the way he has found himself addicted to Logan, but he finds himself opening the car door anyway.

Logan beams.

“I figured,” Logan says lightly, as Julian gets in. “That if you wanted to run away you should try heading to a big city where nobody can find you.”

Julian doesn’t quite know what to say.

Logan’s eyes are soft now, quiet waves on the glass of Julian’s skin. “I know why you didn’t tell me, and I know why you’re convinced you’re doing the right thing,” he says, “but I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong.”

He reaches over, slowly, cautiously, as though Julian might jerk away, as though Julian would ever flinch away from the home of his hands. When his palm brushes over Julian’s cheekbone Julian cannot help but lean in; he is nothing but a compass and Logan is true north. “Lo-“

Logan shakes his head. He waits for Julian to meet his gaze. “I’m here to tell you that if you’re planning to leave… to please take me with you.”

If you ask people what home feels like, they will say this - they will say, the drip of honey at the bottom of a cup of tea. Sunscreen caught in the spot where their neck meets their ear. Sound of boots on fallen snow. Smell of freshly cooked rice.

This is what Julian will say - the way sunset will always gild the horizon. The way the sea will always crash back to shore no matter how many times it pulls away.

And this is what Logan will say - the way the horizon will always welcome the sun. The way the shore will always welcome the sea no matter how many times it pulls away. The way that if I am the sea then you are the shore, and I will always be here, arms open, if you choose to come home.

_Why_ , hangs lightly on the tip of Julian’s tongue. _Why do this for me?_

But he doesn’t ask the question he already knows the answer to; he knows with every beat of his heart, like it is the blood that courses through his veins, that if it were for Logan he would do the same. Because this is them - Julian-and-Logan, Logan-and-Julian. Two homes on an axis, each other’s.

Logan throws the car into reverse, keeps one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the back of Julian’s headrest as he backs out of the lot. “You know, when it happened,” Logan says. His eyes meet Julian’s in the rearview mirror. “When my eyes were slipping closed, the last thing I wanted to see was you.”

-

“Look at the stars.”

Logan peers slightly out the windshield. “They’re a lot brighter out here, huh.”

Julian laughs, quietly, brightly. “They sure are.”

They’ve been driving close to twelve hours now, switching off every stop they make to avoid driving fatigue. Logan wonders briefly if they should stop for the night at the next town, continue their journey tomorrow morning. He has enough cash and clothes for the both of them to make the drive back to his own city stashed away in a small luggage in the trunk of his car - they can afford one or two nights of rest on the drive back.

Julian squeezes his hand lightly. “Stop the car.”

Logan glances over, dubious. “Sorry?”

Julian waves his free hand at the window. “Stop the car. Stargaze with me.”

This is how Logan finds himself pressed up against Julian’s side on the roof of his car, office shirt rolled up to his elbows and dress shoes kicked off on the asphalt beside them. The night is cooler than he expects from the end of summer.

He turns to face Julian. The moon is a sliver of a crescent, light bright but not quite there. It is perfect for stargazing, and yet…

Logan finds himself drawn again and again to Julian. He's glowing, sort of, in the moonlight. Logan cannot tell how much of it is the silver of the moon and how much of it is the radiance of Julian himself.

His hands itch so badly to reach over, to cradle Julian’s smile between his palms, to kiss away the remnants of the morning from the puff of Julian’s eyes. He contents himself, instead, with shifting closer to Julian, but winces as something digs into his hip. Fuck.

He was truly going to wait until they got to his city and started getting settled in before pulling the little box out. Logan is well-aware that they have been dating less than a year, and that the couples he knows usually date for five or so years before someone pops the question. And yet… the box is burning a hole in his pocket, a nagging question he has been turning over and over in his mind since Monday when he slipped out of the office to buy it.

Logan doesn’t know how long it takes others to be sure that they have found their home, but he knows with every cell in his body that his is Julian. He knows that he will love him like the moon loves the sun, like the tongue loves language. Like he is the lock that Julian is the only key to.

He looks over at Julian, all soft edges, all burnished gold. All caramel smiles and brandy palms, sunrise-bright.

He takes Logan’s breath away. He takes Logan’s breath away the same way he did the first day Logan walked into his shop, the same way he did that night, dancing, laughing in the not-quite rain. The same way he did the day he told Logan he loved him, all red-flushed and morning-kissed and golden, golden, golden.

The same way he will, ten, twenty, eighty years into the future. _Their_ future.

His hand closes around the box that has been warming the inside of his pocket for the past few days.

“Jules?” It comes out more like a question than a calling, but Julian looks at him anyway. 

(They may be two stars, blinking in and out of a shared constellation, but when Julian looks at him the rest of the universe disappears.)

Logan clears his throat. “I’m not sure about you,” he says, “but I can’t stop thinking about the time Reed asked you how you were and you said _nothing much._ ”

Julian snorts, but before he can say anything Logan forges on. “I can’t stop thinking about the time you accidentally put salt in your coffee instead of sugar. Or the time you accidentally swallowed a cherry pit and made me google possible side effects for fifteen minutes straight. Or the time you got drunk and we woke up to sunflowers blooming all through the apartment. And I can’t stop thinking about all these stupid things or the way I want to spend the rest of my life making more of them, if I could.”

The words come out in a tumble now. “Remember the time we went to a Thai restaurant and you were the only one out of the both of us to remember I had a peanut _and_ a seafood allergy. Or the time you went out to dance in the rain just so you could feel the beauty of it on your skin and literally _suspended rain_ just so I could feel it too. Or the time you made the ceiling above our bed twinkle because I mentioned how much I missed the blink of city lights. I just… I can’t stop thinking about all these things you’ve done for me and how I- how I’d like to make it up to you, for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”

Julian is definitely glowing now; there is a soft gold emanating off his skin, and there is something sparkling in his eyes that Logan cannot bring himself to name. When the next words tumble off of Logan’s lips they come out as a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about you and how much I love you and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His hand tightens around the box in his pocket. He sees a kind of understanding dawn in the sunrise of Julian’s eyes.

“And now that you’re on the run,” he murmurs, “I’m thinking, now that you’re on the run, you’re probably going to have to change your name.”

He cannot stop his hands from shaking when he pulls the little box out. Cannot tear his eyes away from where Julian’s is shining with tears.

“What do you think about the sound of Julian Wright?”

**Author's Note:**

> if u think I took this as the opportunity to wax lyrical about how much I love them both you’re absolutely right, and if u noticed any plotholes no u did not


End file.
